


Some Silver Age Superbat

by Evilpixie



Category: DCU
Genre: Established Relationship, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M, Secret Identity, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 13:47:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13365999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evilpixie/pseuds/Evilpixie
Summary: Clark Kent vs. euphemisms.





	Some Silver Age Superbat

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [白银时代](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14382762) by [mlest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mlest/pseuds/mlest)



It was the same old speech.

 

“I’ll show the people of this city. I’ll show them  _the truth_  about their hero.”

 

The same monologue he’d heard a thousand times before.

 

“The truth, Superman…” Toyman hissed out the S in his name. “The truth is that there is no truth. No justice. No American way.”

 

Christ. He said that  _one time_.

 

“And they’ll see it. They will see it when I…”

 

This had gone on just about long enough.

 

Clark wrenched himself out of the chains and sliced through the last flailing nutcracker robots with a sweep of heat vision. The Toyman wailed in horror as the machines clanked in pieces to the cement sidewalk.

 

“No! You’ll pay for th— _ah_!”

 

“Yes yes. I know.” Clark knocked the remote control from the man’s fingers and spun him around to bend a stop sign around the man’s wrists. Bruce had been telling him for years to carry zip ties but somehow he never quite remembered to actually go out and buy them. “Are we done here, Winslow?”

 

“No!” The man yelled and plonked down onto his bottom, over balanced by the sign. “We’re not done!”

 

He sighed. “Last time we spoke you said you were retiring from all…” he waved his hand out at the destruction his toys had caused. “…this. What happened?”

 

“I had my eyes opened! To the truth!”

 

“The truth about what?”

 

“I told you!  _You_. The truth about  _you_.”

 

Clark frowned. “Did Bizarro destroy your toys again? If he did I’m sorry but you know it’s not m—”

 

“No!” The man wriggled, trying to escape the warped stop sign. “You’re a ginger beer!”

 

He frowned. “I’m sorry?”

 

“A nine dollar bill!”

 

“I… I’m afraid I don’t…”

 

“You’re light in the loafers,” Toyman insisted venomously. “A baloney pony!”

 

Clark blinked. “I… um… I’m afraid you’re going to have to be a little more…”

 

“Elaborate?”

 

“No,” Clark shook his head. “I think a little  _less_  elaborate might be good.”

 

The Toyman glared at him. A long hard stare. “You’re a  _fruit_ ,” he hissed the word through his teeth. “A flower. A  _flamer_.”

 

Realisation began to dawn. “Wait a sec.” Clark held up his hands. “Are you…?”

 

“A fudge packer,” Toyman ploughed on. “A  _bum chum_.”

 

“You’re angry because I’m gay?”

 

“You don’t even deny it!”

 

“I… well…” he felt a prickle of colour rise to his cheeks. “I haven’t explicitly said anything to the press but… It’s not exactly  _unexpected_  is it? I mean with the…”

 

“Unexpected?!” The man kicked his feet out in fury. “You save cats from trees!”

 

He blinked. “I wasn’t aware that was an especially heterosexual activity.”

 

“Of course it is! It’s…” Toyman’s face was red. “Anal assassins don’t save cats from trees!”

 

“Anal assassins?”

 

“It’s a lie! You’re telling everyone you’re a good red-blooded American man. Not a… a…”

 

“Fag?” Clark suggested.

 

“Yes!”

 

He sighed, gathered his cape, and sat down on the pavement beside the red faced villain. “Winslow,” he started gently. “I know we have known each other for a really long time and I know this is a shock.”

 

“You lied to this city! To me!”

 

“But, really, this doesn’t change anything,” Clark continued. “I’m not going to… eh… anal assassinate anyone. I promise.”

 

“Not even Batman?”

 

He paused.

 

That was the first thing the man had said all day that actually frightened him. It was one thing for him to figure out Superman was gay. He wasn’t exactly hiding it. But to bring Batman – Bruce – into it…

 

“What makes you think that?”

 

“You’re both the same.”

 

A forced smile. “Who told you that?”

 

Who found out about them? Who knew? And how much did they know? Did they know his secret identity? Did they know Bruce’s? Oh God. The kids…

 

“One of the letters in the Sunday Spin said it.”

 

He squinted at the other man. “The Sunday Spin? By Linda Lake? And you believed it?”

 

“The Sunday Spin is the best newspaper!” Toyman yelled. “You wouldn’t understand. I am a patron of the papers.”

 

Clark didn’t say anything.

 

“And you admitted it!”

 

“Honestly I… eh…” he scratched the back of his neck. An imitation of embarrassment. “If Batman was that way I…”

 

“Batman isn’t a…?”

 

“An anal assassin?” Clark shook his head. “Afraid not.”

 

“That makes it worse.” Toyman shuddered. “ _Batman_  is a better hero than you.”

 

“A straighter one,” he lied.

 

“Why?”

 

“What?”

 

“Why?” Toyman asked again.

 

“Why is Batman straight? Or why am I gay?”

 

“No,” the man stopped him. “Why are you nice to me?”

 

Clark was back to being confused. “Because it’s polite?”

 

Toyman shook his head. “Even when I set my toys on the city you’ve always been nice. You helped me retire and set up my toy museum.”

 

“Well… that’s what I do,” he said with a small smile. “You never hurt anyone. You seemed like a nice person. I knew you had just gone off the rails a little bit not…”

 

The police were coming. Their sirens whistling in the midday air.

 

“But you’re a brown coalminer and…”

 

Clark flinched. “Okay. I, um, see your issue. I…” he looked at Toyman. Forty years his senior, sweating a river, and stuffed into the most unflattering clothes imaginable. “…can assure you I don’t feel that way about you, Winslow. We’re just friends.” He forced a smile. “I’m really not any different. I promise.”

 

The man made a noncommittal noise and ducked his chin down to his chest. Waiting in a huff for the police to arrive and take him away.

 

Once they had Clark stood while Jimmy took some photos, gave Lois an interview, and flew back to Gotham to confront the man sitting in the basement.

 

“You sent a letter outing us to the Sunday Spin.” It wasn’t a question.

 

Bruce’s look to anyone else would have been unreadable. Clark had known him long enough to seek the downright  _cheeky_  gleam in his eye. “Vicki Vale was starting to suspect.”

 

“So you made sure to break the story elsewhere?”

 

A low snort. “Come now, Clark. It was the Sunday Spin.” He turned back to his microscope. “You shouldn’t believe everything you read in the paper.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is another old Tumblr post which I have decided should be moved over to A03. It's a bit of a love letter to the silverage and was inspired by all things happy, bizzare, and beautiful from that era in comic books. I hope you got a chuckle out of it.


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